The Gentleman and the Pea
by Car
Summary: Every couple of decades, one of America's bosses would get this idea in their head that their nation wasn't representing himself like he should. Cue the matchmaking. Too bad America has some odd standards...and even odder ways to weed out the weak.


**A little ditty I wrote up for the US/UK Fairy Tale thing over on LiveJournal. Someone asked if I would put this on here, so I said sure, why not! XD**

* * *

Personally, America thought his boss was losing it.

Honestly, the man wanted him to…_settle down_. Like his mere existence wasn't bewildering enough in itself, now he wanted him to, and he quotes, meet a nice girl, buy a house with a white picket fence, have 2.5 children, and _really_ start living the American Dream.

Too bad Mr. President didn't seem to realize it wasn't the 50's anymore, and the American dream had changed. Now, waking up at noon, spending all day in his underwear watching videos of cats on Youtube while eating Cheetos? _That_ was the American Dream.

Not that his boss would ever listen to him, the bastard.

With a heavy sigh, America straightened out his tie and gave himself a brilliant smile in the bathroom mirror. He looked remarkably like a serial killer, so he promptly slammed his head on the sink. Dear lord, why was he doing this?

What he needed to do was escape. He was what, three stories up? Oh yeah, he could totally survive that fall.

Before he could open the window and make his grand getaway however, a harsh knocking sounded from his door. "Alfred, you almost ready in there?" his boss called, "The girls are waiting."

Silently praying his Jack the Ripper smile would at least somewhat deter the ladies at the party downstairs (unlikely, he was a stud), he took a deep, accepting breath and reached for the-

Wait.

Jack the Ripper.

England.

He needed to get England's ass here _now._

As fast as his could, he sent the older nation a desperate text before joining his boss in the hallway and solidifying his fate.

* * *

_Ping_

England placed his teacup delicately on the table before slipping his mobile open and reading the message on the screen.

_From: America_

_Boss gone crazy! Trying 2 hook me up w/ random grlz! Get over NOW! D:_

England sighed, standing up to retrieve his coat. Every couple of decades, one of America's bosses got this idea in his head that their nation wasn't exactly representing himself like he should. He would then get on this kick of trying to set him up with some girl to _put him on a leash_, so to speak.

Obviously, no one had managed to succeed as of yet, but the whole affair was always such a terrible nuisance that England typically came over as a support for the poor lad.

The fact that he didn't want any of those bloody tarts touching America had absolutely nothing to do with it, mind you. He just found the whole thing to be a rather irritating.

Honestly.

Once he had retrieved his coat and hat, he slipped out the door, booking his flight to America on his Blackberry on the way out.

* * *

"Alfred, come over here a second, I want you to meet someone."

America groaned. He had already met with a hundred someone's tonight; he didn't need to meet this one to know that he wasn't going to like her.

First there was that Becky girl with the mole, then that Shirley chick with that laugh, Ashley with the nose, Carol with the hair, Hannah with the chin, Lorie with the _two_ chins, Melanie with the voice, and don't even get him _started_ on Amanda.

A-MAN-da was more like it.

Plastering on his fakest, and he secretly hoped freakiest smile, he diligently reported to the President's side and shook the giggling redhead's hand.

"Alfred, this is Jessica," his boss said proudly.

Okay, so this one wasn't bad. A little flat in the chestical region admittedly, but overall she-_HOLY BUCKETS _LOOK AT THOSE FEET.

Whatever Bigfoot and the President were talking about flew completely over America's head as he attempted to figure out how this girl managed to fit her size sixteen's in those itty bitty little heels. It was only when the massive feet started walking away that America turned his attention from them back to his boss.

"Well?" he was asking hopefully. "What did you think?"

"I think Michael Jordan was forced into retirement because that girl took all of his shoes."

"Alfred."

"Dude, did you _see_ them? You could float down the Mississippi on those things!"

The President rubbed his temples. "Okay, this is getting ridiculous. You've been turning away every young lady you've seen tonight based on vain little imperfections! At least get to _know_ them first."

America crossed his arms in a huff. "I told you I didn't want to do this, so don't be getting all pissy at me for not cooperating, bro."

The President shook his head, mumbling something under his breath that may or may not have been about stubborn-ass personifications. "Just…try, okay?" he pleaded. "Can you do that much for me? Just find…I don't know, ten? Find me ten girls, and we'll put them up for the night. We can pull some Bachelor stunt tomorrow and you can go on a date with each and make your decision."

He pondered this for a moment. While he still wasn't fond of the whole settling down deal, he did love him some Bachelor. "Fine," he grunted. "But if we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it _my _way."

"Deal." The president regretted this agreement almost immediately of course, as a deal with Alfred never ended well for him in the end. But the President was desperate, and desperate times call for desperate measures.

* * *

America dragged himself around the room, seeing nothing but a sea of imperfections. His boss was totally wrong, for one thing. He wasn't rejecting these women for superficial reasons. Call him a romantic, but he always figured that when he found that special person he would just _know_, like there would be sparks or something.

With a heavy sigh, he looked up. That was when he saw her.

Cue sparks.

She was taller than most women in the room, but even from behind, he could tell she had a cute, petite figure. Her hair was a beautiful blonde, cut short and choppy, hinting at what he imaged to be a sassy little attitude. That, and the all-business pose she was striking, with her hand on her hip, jutted out to one side impatiently.

He also happened to notice she had a pretty nice ass, but that was neither here nor there.

Suddenly, he was pushing through the crowds as she was turning her head every so slightly in his direction. He willed himself to get closer. All she had to do was turn her head just a bit more and-

Holy shit it's England.

America froze, his face flushing a deep red. He was not expecting that.

Sure, maybe, once upon a time, only on special occasions, he might have thought that England could possibly be kind of cute occasionally. And okay, sometimes he thought that accent of his was pretty sexy, and yeah the man looked rather dashing in a suit. And so what if they just happened to be best friends forever, always by each other's side, helping each other out in wars and stuff, and, you know, when they got drunk. It wasn't like…it couldn't be that…

Okay fine, he had a thing for England.

Shut up, it's not that funny.

Clearing is throat; America stood up just a bit taller and, much calmer this time, made his way through the crowd.

* * *

England was starting to get pissed. And not the good, alcoholic pissed either, the going-to-kill-America kind of pissed.

He had been at this blasted party for almost an hour now, and had yet to see neither hide nor hair of the young nation. He was just contemplating getting himself something to make him the good kind of pissed when he spotted Nantucket making its way through the gaggle of people.

"England!" America exclaimed, rushing up to him and enveloping him in a rather forceful hug. "Dude, I am so glad to see you! This whole thing has been like, totally crazy. You just gotta save me!"

Wiggling from the larger nation's embrace, England huffed and brushed himself off. "Well, what's your plan of attack this time? Assuming you actually have one, of course."

America beamed. "Oh, you bet I do! It's totally sweet! Boss said I had to pick ten girls tonight, so I going to pick them by having them answer trivia on my favorite subject!"

"Processed meats?"

"No dude, me!"

"Ah."

"Yeah! And I'll take the top ten girls, and, you remember that one story? It's one of Denmark's… What was it again? The princess who peed?"

"It's _The Princess and the Pea_, you dolt."

America snapped his fingers in recollection. "Yeah, that one! Boss agreed to let me do whatever I want, so I'm gonna tell him the only way I'll get with one of these girls is if they are so fair, they can feel a pea through ten mattresses!"

England pondered this idea for a few moments. "While I do think it's a bit extravagant and unnecessary, I suppose it will work," he decided.

"Awesome!" America beamed. "C'mon, let's go tell the staff to get those beds all set up!"

England rolled his eyes but did little to stop America from dragging him along.

* * *

As the bedrooms were put in order, America called all the ladies to the stage for the spelling-bee style trivia competition. America stressed the importance of his future bride to be knowledgeable about her country and it's history as he and England sat center stage.

A-MAN-da was up to bat first, and America couldn't help but snort at the little "good _God_" from England as she took the microphone.

"Okay, first question!" America lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose as he read off of his thrown-together list of facts about himself. "What is my favorite color?"

"Blue."

America blinked in confusion. That had not come from the stage. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he would almost say that had come from…

"Honestly America, _real_ historical. I thought you said these would be important, meaningful questions."

And it didn't stop there. Every question, as the girls continue to fall, England knew the answer.

Red, 1776, Orange Julius, Pepperoni, 42, Bye Bye Bye, The 1985 Chicago Bears, Red Vines, England knew it all! Before America knew it, he found himself asking _him_ the questions, rather than the girls on stage.

"Favorite actor," he asked tersely, his eyes never laving the island nation at his side.

"Umm…" the girl on stage mused, "Robert Pattinson?"

England scoffed, and while America couldn't help but feel like he _should_ have been creeped out by the whole thing, as England mumbled "Clint Eastwood" under his breath, he couldn't help but notice his heart was beating just a bit faster.

* * *

"You must be joking."

America laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Sorry dude, but we told the girls that anyone who stayed over at the White House had to sleep like this so they wouldn't get suspicious and, well…you're staying over! Don't worry, it's just for appearances."

England stared up at the mountain of mattresses, clearly unimpressed. "I'm going to fall off and break my bloody spine."

"Oh you are not. Here, I'll help you up!"

With a dignified squeak, England was lifted into the air and all but thrown on top of the pile, causing it to sway ever so slightly. "The hell do you think you're doing, you git?" he exclaimed.

America laughed. "Helping you up, of course!" He grinned and moved to shut off the light. "Sleep tight! I'm going to need you as backup after I tell the girls no one passed the test."

"Yes, yes, go on then. But if you hear a loud thump in the middle of the night, you best come check on me, savvy?"

"Ay, ay captain!" America chuckled, willing away the dopey smile that tried to sneak onto his face.

* * *

America and his boss were drinking coffee at the kitchen table when England dragged himself in, looking positively dreadful.

"Morning, sunshine!" America laughed, receiving a grunt in response. "Dude, you look like shit, you didn't really fall of the mattresses, did you?"

England fumbled around before finally finding his chair and plopping into it. "No, but I might as well have. Sleeping on the floor would have been better than that blasted mattress."

The President blinked in surprise as America's eyes widened slightly in realization.

"Oh y-yeah?"

The older nation nodded tiredly. "It was the damnedest thing. No matter what position I tried to sleep in, there was this…lump poking me in the back." He rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Land of opportunities my arse. Can't getting get a bloody decent nights sleep."

America and his boss gaped as England stood up and stretched, mumbling something about taking a shower as he left the room yawning.

Once out sight, the Americans chanced each other an awkward glance.

"Well…"

"That was…"

"Yeah…"

An awkward silence quickly settled over the room, broken only by America slurping loudly on his coffee, his face a brilliant shade of red.

"He, uh…" The President began nervously. "He had a pea under…under his mattress…didn't he?" America gulped.

"Uh…yeah. I-I think he did."

The room fell into uneasy silence once again. Somewhere outside, a dog was barking.

The President cleared his throat. "W-what do you say we never speak of this moment ever again?"

"Oh god, yes." America sighed in relief.

His boss nodded, finishing off his coffee in one gulp and standing rigidly. "Well, I better get going, busy day you know."

"Oh, right! Yeah, have a good day boss! See you at three o'clock for that meeting?"

"Right, yes, three o'clock. See you then."

As the President quickly made his way out of the kitchen, America sighed, and then smashed his head on the table.

He _knew_ he should have gone with Rapunzel.

* * *

**Yeah, just a silly little thing. I didn't have a meet FOR ONCE last weekend, so I was able to throw this together! Hope you enjoyed it! England is such a princess, it's so cute. XD**

**-Car**


End file.
